


Lannisters of Tarth

by ikknowplaces



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Happy Ending, Healing, Idiots in Love, Marriage, Post-Canon, Smut, Wedding Night, post-ados, they're literally so soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 15:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20969132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikknowplaces/pseuds/ikknowplaces
Summary: Jaime and Brienne married in Tarth after the fight in Winterfell against the wights. Includes their first kiss, wedding night, and very much in love Jaime. Post a Dream of Spring.





	Lannisters of Tarth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackcanarys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackcanarys/gifts).

> well this turned out to be a lot smuttier than i imagined. the dress brienne is wearing is obviously inspired by gwen's dress at the emmys. i won't take criticism about how much cliche and soft jaime is. i'm a sucker for married couple who are super in love with each other.
> 
> i'm starting a series called "waiting for winter", which will be a group of one shots about jaime and brienne's plot in twow, so send me your predictions and i will write them!
> 
> this was requested by the lovely ally, aka blackcanarys or jlannister on tumblr. you should totally check her blog out. thank you ally!

Jaime was walking through corridors and halls, up spiraling sets of steps and narrow passageways. Evenfall was much smaller than the Red Keep and Casterly Rock as well, but he still took his time to memorize his new home. His wife was nowhere to be found, not at the sparring yard where they had fought earlier and he accepted freshly blooming bruises with pride, since it had been his wife knocking him to the ground, as she always did. She wasn't in the Great Hall either, nor on the balcony on the west side of the castle to watch the sun setting on the Sapphire Isle, as she often did. The last place he could think of was their bedchamber.

It was her bedchamber, since childhood. The bed was replaced by a bigger one, the canopy blue and red and golden. Her dresser was taken and two were brought instead, one on each side of the room. The carpet was removed in favor of another, and the curtains as well, but in his heart, it remained her bedchamber. It was there she ran to after Ronnet had thrown his rose at her, she told him one night, and it was there she was dressed in new armor before departing her island to join Renly's forces.

He slept there the best, he found out. In Casterly Rock he was angry for being separated from his sister, and his bedchamber in the Red Keep always seemed to be haunted by whispering spiders or fire. He still had nightmares, about Aerys and burning cities, about the wights, but his wife sound asleep by his side somehow made it all better.

He had been in Tarth for only half a dozen moons, but he could already call it home, this little stone castle and endless Sapphire Isle. He couldn't say the same about Crakehall, though he had been there for four namedays, nor for King's Landing, where he had spent a third of his life. Maybe it was Tarth, which had none of King's Landing stench and treachery, none of the roaming streets sinking in nightsoil, full of people who would stab each other for a piece of bread whenever another war would take them unaware. Or maybe it was his lady wife, with whom he could even call the woods of Riverrun a home.

He knocked on their bedchamber's great door. "Brienne?"

His wife was inside the room, accompanied by her handmaids. They were fussing around her, whispering and grinning in front of the looking-glass, brushing her hair and smoothing her gown.

Brienne was the first one to catch his gaze, her sapphire eyes meeting him. She grabbed her handmaids' hands, who gasped at the sight of him, and turned around, her cheeks somewhat flustered.

"Lord husband," she bowed after they settled down, with a playful grin on her face.

"Ser Jaime," her handmaids bowed as well, so smaller and fragile compared to Brienne, with their colorful summer gowns. He was not yet Lord Tarth, as Brienne's father's health was strong, even after the siege he had endured, thank the Gods. He was no longer Lord Commander of anything and Lord Lannister seemed to fit more to his brother, who has gotten Casterly Rock as he wished, so Ser remained.

Jaime's jaw fell open when he understood what they were whispering about. Brienne was wearing a crimson velvet gown, with a bodice that showed the top of her breasts and bare shoulders. Gold ornaments were embroidered into the fabric, twisting on the skirt and long sleeves. A single sapphire was resting on her chest, as blue as her eyes. Her hair was slicked and pushed back, as if she had gotten out of the bath.

Red was her House color as well, that he knew, but he had never seen her seeming so _Lannister_. The crimson was brought up by her fair skin, her hair nearly as bright as gold. She might be just radiating it. Judging by the smiles she shared with her handmaids, their meaning was well planned.

"My lady wife," he regained his good senses and bowed back. The last time he had seen her with Lannister colors was at their wedding ceremony. "Ladies, may I have a moment alone with my wife?" He asked and they fell into quick courtesies and got out of the chamber.

Brienne had given him several wedding gifts, in the following fortnight after they were wed. A place by her father's side as he carried out his weekly audience, hearing out the requests and complaints of the smallfolk of Tarth, so he would learn some good judgment from her father. She had introduced him to her father's most trusted advisors, his most loyal lords, and the traders who came to Tarth since she was a girl. She even let him train a group of young boys who wished to be great knights when they grew up, as a start, since her old master-at-arms had been long gone.

In return, he had picked the handmaids for her. Four young ladies, only a few years younger than her, who were ecstatic to serve in court. He had sat them down at his and Brienne's solar and told them his wife might appear as strong as any other man, but her heart is gentle, and she had suffered enough by the cruel words of others. The ladies reassured him with shaking heads that they would never speak ill of their lady, and that tales of her bravery during the Long Night had reached their ears. They asked him if it was true he knighted her himself and swooned when he answered.

They had been married for nearly five moons. He kissed her in Winterfell, before the dead arrived. He would have wed her there too, if Winterfell wasn't a pile of ashes, its walls burnt and collapsed. The fight against the dead was brutal, more bloody and inhuman than any other battle he fought in. He still can't believe he survived long enough to see the sunrise. After the dead fell, for once and for all this time, he pushed her to her bedchamber, insisting that those who didn't risk their lives should handle the corpses now. They peeled their armor off and washed their bruises with water and he kissed her.

He wanted to do that since the Quiet Isle, when he brought her half-dead after the fight against Lady Stoneheart and her Brotherhood. He will never forget how she shivered inside that little wooden cabin, how he dubbed her burning skin with snow, gave her soup, smeared oil into the spot where her hair had been ripped and cleaned her cheek. He wanted to kiss her since the Vale too, where they sheltered in caves from the harsh winds and found Sansa Stark shaking and covered in snow.

He would have wed her when they jumped into the icy pools in the weirwood, a celebration of their victory against the dead. He jumped in first, half-clad in boiled leather and fur. She was reluctant at first, saying the water was freezing, but he persuaded her to throw her boots away and pushed her into the pool. She gasped when she emerged from the water, shaking but smiling, and he kissed her in front of all the other people who were swimming in the pools.

He would have wed her beneath the weirwood, where they fought for their lives the night before. Her gown would have been blue as the winter sky and the cloak he'd drape about her shoulders red as the weirwood leaves. He would have held her hand and vow to be hers from this day until his last day.

Winterfell wasn't their home, he was more than happy not to set a foot in Casterly Rock again, and Brienne missed her father and was concerned for his well being after the siege Jon Connington and the Golden Company had laid on Tarth, so Tarth it was. He still remembered the shock on Brienne's face when he told her he'd come with her and how she claimed his lips.

They arrived on Tarth's shores after a long fortnight of sailing. Jaime felt taken back by the island when his feet reached the sandy ground, green lush mountains and the Sapphire Isle, blue as Brienne's eyes.

Lord Selwyn waited at the bay. Jaime had never feared any man, not Aerys with his wildfire, nor the Smiling Knight or the Mountain, but Lord Selwyn was a head taller than Brienne, and broader too. As he welcomed his daughter in a hug, Jaime felt a knot tightening inside his throat.

Brienne's gaze moved between him and Selwyn, waiting for her father to call him Kingslayer or make a remark about his honor, but he only shook Jaime's hand. "Welcome to Tarth, Ser Jaime," he said. "You must be tired from your journey," he turned to Brienne, who nodded, and they rode to Evenfall.

They wed a moon later, in Evenfall's Sept, after enough time for their wounds to heal and preparations to be done. The Sept's candles shined behind Brienne as she stepped with her father. Her gown was dark as the midnight sky and made of silk, with silver stars sewn into it. The most wondrous thing was that Oathkeeper was sheathed on her hip, bound by a red-and-gold strap. The Warrior and Maiden taken flesh.

Jaime had not brought a cloak before they set sail. He would have liked for Brienne to be covered with his mother's cloak, but it was old and worn-out, and he would have rather slice his other hand off than to have Brienne cloaked in something his vile nephew touched, so a new one was made. He was never so happy as he was when the Septon declared them one flesh, one heart, one soul. A husband, at long last, to the most honorable woman in the Seven Kingdoms.

No bedding ceremony took place, because he was no green youth, and Brienne would have driven her fist into anyone who attempted to rip her gown off. They walked to her bedchamber, now theirs, followed by nothing but cheers and drunk laughter.

Brienne was so happy at the Sept, glowing with joy, but all that drained away as soon as he closed the door behind him. She fumbled with her hands and chewed on her lip, standing at the center of the room.

"We don't have to do anything," he rushed to her and took her hand.

"No," she said, and then, more quietly, "I-I want to."

There was a moment, not long before the wedding, when they kissed in his bed. Jaime gathered her into his arm, but as the kiss heated, Brienne pushed him back. She told him she wanted to wait until they were wed, and apologized. He had dishonored himself and his vows, but he would not dishonor Brienne, with the wedding so nearby.

He helped her untie the laces at the base of her spine, and she loosened the buckles of his doublet. They laid on their bed, on top of a white sheet. She returned his kisses with the same passion, but her hands trembled as she cupped his face, so he kissed her cheeks, trailed down her neck and traced a fading scar at the curve of her stomach, until he settled between her thighs. "You taste like the ocean," he murmured as he licked between her folds, capturing the little bud there, and she peaked clutching his hair

The sheet was stained with her maiden blood when he entered her. Her hands stroked his back, ankles brushing his waist, and soon enough, her cries turned into moans of pleasure and sighs of his name, and he forgot how to breathe when he spilled inside of her.

He watched her staring at the canopy, curling a strand of hair around his finger. "What are you thinking about?"

She glanced at the sound of his voice, but returned to gaze up. "That was nothing like what I imagined." She said, her brow furrowed.

"What did you imagine?' His fingers moved to the bear claws scars on her shoulder and dropped on the mattress.

She thought about it for a moment. "My Septa always told me to blow off all the candles, so my husband would not need to look upon my face," she said, her tone cold and emotionless. Jaime made a mental note. _Candles, always._ "She also said I should keep my voice down, close my eyes and let it be done."

Anger bubbled up at the pit of his stomach. She must have been only a young girl when her Septa told her those instructions, preparing her for a husband that would bed her only out of duty. "Then your Septa is a fool who never had a good fuck in her life."

Brienne flinched at the word and turned her head aside to look at him. He was hit again by the force of her blue eyes, and was about to apologize for startling her, when she smiled and reached for his stump.

She rolled on her side and looked between him and the sheet, her voice quiet as a whisper. "What you did before, with your mouth," she trailed off, blush spreading across her cheeks. "She didn't mention it at all."

He gave her his cheekiest grin and threw his arms around her, bringing her close. "Did you like it?"

"I did," she buried her face in his chest and they laughed until he lifted her chin to kiss her again.

Now, he crossed their chamber and brought her hand to his lips. "My lady wife," he planted a peck on her knuckles, "what a lovely gown you're wearing," he smiled.

"Thank you, husband," she looked down on herself and swung the skirt to the side. The seamstress did wonderfully, the gown emphasized her strong stomach, narrow waist and miles long arms. He ached with want.

He watched her eyes as they darted on his face. Just mere hours ago, she was covered in sweat, her plain tunic and breeches dirty from their sparring, as their swords clashed to the sound of waves.

There was a sparkle in her eyes as she looked down at him, and she leaned to capture his lips. He was quick to reply, pressing just as gently. Her fingers dragged to the back of his neck, playing with his hair. He deepened the kiss, pushing her closer, breathing her sweet scent of flowers and soap, wanting to have her bare under him and kiss every freckle on her skin.

He fumbled with the laces on her gown when she pulled apart, her hands on his chest. "Perhaps after supper?" she asked, her breathing labored, but still smiling.

"Is that a promise?" He brushed her cheek, the one that was bitten.

"It may be," she drawled, and he returned her smile.

The promise was fulfilled after supper, and Jaime watched his wife's chest rise and fall, one hand tucked beneath her head, the other holding his. The moonlight shined over her freckles and scars, over her broken nose and curves of her body hidden under the blanket.

No one has ever been soft with him, not his father since he was young, with his stern, unyielding eyes. Not his little brother, and especially not Cersei, never. But Brienne was, even when she still loathed him. Pitied him, more likely, as they were bound to a horse together. He was weak and eaten by fever in Harrenhall, but she bathed him, trimmed his beard and helped him dress, and never complained about the burden he was, and now she kissed him every day and soothed him when he woke from a nightmare.

Loving Brienne was as easy as breathing. What he had with Cersei was lust, at most, but never love. It was consuming and demanding, leaving him with nothing after their urges were satisfied. It was bold and risky and wrong. He would have gone to war for her, but she didn't share a fragment of the devotion he had for her. It was beyond his choice, once they had begun. It ended with his hand around her throat.

The love he and Brienne had was shared between them. It was a love based on flaws and wounds, growing in the forests of Riverrun, the snowy mountains of the Vale, and Winterfell. It was a love that took time, and understanding, against all the odds. He might never say it out loud, but Brienne brought him back the faith he had in real honor. She made him want to become a better knight, a better man, and a better husband.

Jaime knew he would spend the rest of his life breaking fast in their bedchamber, still dressed in their sleep clothes, climbing downhills, wandering through meadows, visiting the streets of Evenfall and buying fruit from merchants, walking by the seaside with the breeze in his hair and bathing in secret pools only Brienne knew of. He fell asleep dreaming of the ocean and children with golden hair and blue eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you!
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](https://ikknowplaces.tumblr.com)


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